


In Which Nothing Much Happens To Papyrus

by TotalSkeletonTrash



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chill or Be Chilled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:03:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotalSkeletonTrash/pseuds/TotalSkeletonTrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a Papyrus POV for Chapter 44 of Chill or Be Chilled, because, um, I guess I wanted to?</p><p>This will make literally no sense if you haven't read that far in CoBC so please disregard if you haven't done that thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Nothing Much Happens To Papyrus

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chill or Be Chilled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387672) by [TotalSkeletonTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotalSkeletonTrash/pseuds/TotalSkeletonTrash). 



There is a wild satisfaction, the tall skeleton thinks, in doing the task that one was always meant to do. His brother never seemed to understand this, much to Papyrus’ frustration. Sans was as cleanly designed as Papyrus was. Sans’ mind was as keen and sharp and hard as a diamond; when he set to a task with a will, he could simply peel away the problems and distractions, layer by layer, until he was left with the simplest, most elegant answer. Put Sans in an iron box, and he would simply think his way out, given enough time, Papyrus was certain.

But, then, Sans would never think his way out. Sans would take a shortcut, because that’s what Sans did. 

Then again, Papyrus mused, making a small gesture that turned his closet assailant’s soul a soft, muted blue - he plummeted, groaning, to the ground - perhaps Sans took shortcuts because they were the most elegant answer. Oh, if he could only see the world the same way as his brother, if he could see the holes one could make in space as easily as the space itself…

He glances over, offhandedly driving a heavy bone into the neck of the man with the billy club creeping up behind him. The man gurgles, but his soul doesn’t fade too terribly, which was good. Papyrus was doing his best to keep his promise to the king. And, well, he had always been designed to capture humans, not to kill them. Gaster had always been clear, that this was his purpose. And he was doing so well! He had almost twice as many captives as Toriel already!

Sans, on the other hand, seemed to be… Papyrus thought back to the other day. Sans and the human had disappeared somewhere, as usual, to do something terribly boring, as usual. This had left him briefly alone with the small gray cat, the Ghost-that-was-not-actually-a-ghost. Papyrus was fine with that. He was enchanted by the animal, who seemed to occupy all of his time either making a rumbling noise or sleeping or licking itself (in places that Papyrus was fairly sure were rather rude!). So, while his brother and friend did… whatever it was they did, Papyrus had been chatting rather animatedly with the cat. Granted, it was a one-sided conversation, but that hadn’t really stopped Papyrus from enjoying it. Ghost had been paying attention to him for some time, but a movement at the baseboard of the room grabbed both of their attention at once. It was something very small, and very fast, and soft and brown and -

Oh. It was a mouse. Papyrus was familiar with mice. 

Ghost, it seemed, was familiar too. The cat waited, tail twitching, for the mouse to creep near enough, and without any warning, leapt from the arm of the sofa to pounce, landing on the tiny creature with all fours. The surface, Papyrus reflected, was often an unkind place to the small and weak. To his surprise, though, the cat did not sink its teeth into the mouse to eat. No, after a moment, it released the mouse, let it stagger forward a few feet, then struck again. This process repeated itself many times, to Papyrus’ bemusement. Finally, it occurred to him what was happening. Ghost was playing. 

Sans was playing too. 

Papyrus watches as his brother makes a gesture, and three men are tossed roughly into the stone wall demarking the rear of the property. There is a terrible cracking noise that issues forth from one of them. Sans doesn’t move to restrain them. He stands there, grinning, and when one of them lurches forward to try to strike again, Sans repeats the gesture, and crack, back against the uneven stones the man is tossed. 

Papyrus shrugs mentally, sweeping his leg and taking out one of the last few assailants. It was terribly inefficient, that was all. Then again, Sans was working out his emotions, clearly. He wasn’t fulfilling his purpose. There was no reason to expect him to be efficient, or clean. And clearly, well, nobody seemed very interested in getting in the way of his little game right now, even though Papyrus had noticed both Undyne and Toriel giving him nervous glances. Papyrus was paying attention to everything. 

This was almost certainly why he was the one to sense a new human soul clattering onto the battlefield, so far behind him. Without thinking, he turns, long legs spreading out, to find the source. It’s only when he draws closer that he recognizes the soul, and gasps. This is no assailant! This is his dear friend! She sits up, and he inhales sharply, recognizing that she’s not alone, that his new companion is clinging to her, and his mouth opens. For the first time in the night, he feels panic. Something is certainly not right.

“_________!” He screams. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE, WE ONLY JUST-”

“Paps! Inside! Bad guy! Frisk!” She rasps. Her voice sounds like she’s been screaming for a long, long time, and he finds himself frozen, bewildered, as the change in her appearance finally registers. What has happened, he thinks, panicked, to his kind and faithful friend, to the human who had given him her home without question? 

And then her words register again. Bad guy. Frisk. 

Papyrus is surprised, as he takes off running again, to realize that he is feeling something inside right now. This has only happened once before in combat, when he’d been forced to stand in the way of little Frisk after becoming so terribly fond of the child. Back then, during that fight, he’d felt regret, reluctance, a desire to stop, to make everything right. 

This is not that feeling. 

It’s so rare that Papyrus actually feels angry. Outside, with the humans, in the snow, he surely hadn’t felt anything but a dim pleasure in acting according to his nature. Sometimes, when his brother needled him, he felt frustrated, he admitted to himself. Sometimes he was sulky or petulant or he misbehaved for attention. But now…

He thinks he understands now, the game that Sans was playing outside. 

There are two human souls in the mansion, and he knows one so well that he doesn’t even bother. It’s sequestered, safe, down in the mansion next to Alphys. That soul will not come to harm. But there’s another soul, one frozen, horrified, standing in the center of the room with the television, the room that they’d gathered in so happily that morning to trade gifts and friendship and love, and that soul wanted to hurt Frisk. That soul had injured ________ terribly. He whips around the corner, bone forming in his hand, something… something jagged this time, no dull clubbed edges, something meant to pierce, to skewer.

The human there is so slight. He is so, so small. He is on his hands and knees in a puddle of vomit, and when he looks up, Papyrus sees that the human has seen terrible, terrible things. 

“HELLO, HUMAN.” Papyrus says, tossing his bone spear casually between his hands. “I BELIEVE THAT YOU HAVE COME HERE TO PLAY A GAME WITH MY FRIENDS.” His smile hurts his face. “I WOULD LIKE TO PLAY A GAME TOO.” There is no light but the moonlight spilling in through the window, and the faint, crackling glow around Papyrus. “MY KING SAID NOT TO KILL YOU, BUT I AM LEARNING SO MUCH TONIGHT. IT SEEMS THAT LEAVES PLENTY OF OPTIONS.” He says cheerfully. “YOU SEE, YOU HURT MY DEAR FRIEND’S HAND. SURELY IT WOULD ONLY BE POLITE TO RETURN THE FAVOR-”

“I didn’t do that, man!” The boy - he was really only a boy - weeps. “I didn’t… goddamn, she, she, she just jumped, she jumped through a hole and then I saw it, it was just there, it was just falling apart, it fuckin’ i-it fuckin’, I didn’t I didn’t I, I, I…” 

“EXACTLY.” Papyrus hears himself saying. “NOW YOU’RE GETTING IT. AN ‘I’ FOR AN ‘I’, RIGHT?” He feels… wrong. He feels sharp, and hungry, and coiled like a spring, and his teeth are wrong in his mouth and his eyes hurt and there’s the scent of flowers that he can barely remember the source of. 

The boy moans, and there’s a fresh source of stink - humans can be so messy, digesting - and he collapses forward, something shiny and black clattering into the pool of vomit. Papyrus eyes it with great distaste. A gun. He grimaces, and throws his bone shard at it with great precision, and the awful thing disintegrates, and now there’s just a boy, passed out and cold and pathetic on the floor in his vomit and shit and piss. 

_no, bro._ The memory is soft in his head. _you don’t gotta hurt them, okay? you don’t gotta hurt anyone. i know how much you hate it. dad’s not right about everything, i promise. this isn’t what you’re here for._

He swallows roughly, and the pressure in his head fades, and he wonders, suddenly, what he had possibly been thinking. “GOT HIM!” He yells, loud enough for everyone to hear. Without a second’s hesitation, he scoops the idiot boy up, carrying him from the back of his shirt like a kitten’s scruff, and hauls him outside. 

________ is still in the snow, still hurting, still clutching Ghost, still looking broken, but when she sees him hauling the twitching boy out into the snow, she looks… relieved. 

He doesn’t know why.

He’s relieved too. 

He doesn’t know why.


End file.
